


The Last Homely House

by QueenBoudicca



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoudicca/pseuds/QueenBoudicca
Summary: It was odd to say that you had come to the House of Elrond. For you had done so with little to no intention—feet traveling at the behest of your heart. A small voice telling you, everyone had a home. You knew, somewhere, there must have been a place for you—a place to lie your head.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Reader, Elrond Peredhel/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	The Last Homely House

It was odd to say that you had come to the House of Elrond. For you had done so with little to no intention—feet traveling at the behest of your heart. A small voice telling you, everyone had a home. You knew, somewhere, there must have been a place for you—a place to lie your head. 

Wandering in through a crag in the hillside, you walked deeper into a cavern. The cavern walls a slate grey that twinkled with bursts of Mica and quartz, dazzling in the sunlight. Your eye’s twitching to and fro, the essence of life itself bleeding out until the very air sopped with it—the sensation of something sticking to the roof of your mouth, a sticky piece of bread.

Walking up the steps, two guards glanced at each other. There armor cold stone chiseled a thousand years ago to guard the entrance to the home of Elrond Half-Elven. Nerdanel herself would have been proud of its craftsmanship. 

If it weren’t for your magics, you’d never have caught the enchantment.

“What business do you have here?” An elegant elf with a long face and pointed chin. His hair nearly to his waist, but his eyes were wide with a downward cast and expressiveness. The kind of eyes that begged you, tell your secrets.

You stared in response to his question.

“Who invited you?” Again you gave no answer, for there was nothing to offer. Magics did not pull in vain but seldom gave a name.

His brow furrowing as he delved deeply into his mind. He was searching for any hint to explain your presence. The two guards’ curiosity was as high as the keeper of the gates.

“My name, I can give. If it so please’s.” Your feet moving towards the edge of the stairs, one foot prepared to step up—a test of boundaries.  
All three looking for a sign of danger.

Then he appeared an elf of substantial age and would guess wisdom. His face showing age not by line’s and wrinkles but with pursed brow and tired eyes. As though he had swum from the bottom of the ocean and was still fighting for breath. The type of blue that lets the truth slip and lies drown.

Yet, when he glimpsed the woman in front of him, he felt met.

A gaze as old as his own staring back. There were no lines upon her face of years, only burdens. Her brow heavy with the weight of her weariness, though he knew not what, that may be.

“Let our guest come to supper, Lindir.” Elrond turning, his leg’s taking two steps at a time, pausing at the sound of tiny feet dancing up to meet him.  
Lindir whipping to and fro as you outpaced him to his Lord.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay, my lord.” Elrond’s eye’s crinkling at the manners and soothing tone. It was a rarity in his guests. It reminded him of warm summers and gentle breeze. He let that warmth soothe over him like a night near the fire, his son’s close.

“You are quite welcome.” Offering his arm as the three of you walked higher fingers skimming over stone and leaf. Your feet were missing no step even as your gaze flittered near and far. Elrond the perfect guide.

“What bring’s you to Rivendell?” A slight pause to your step’s before you recommenced.

“In truth, I do not know. My Lord,” Upon that admission, Lindirs head swiveled and stared.

“Yet you found-” You gazed up with far more years behind your eye’s than Elrond felt plausible.

“I do not mean to be rude, but I cannot answer for I do not have an answer myself. All I have is what is in my satchel and spirit. To that end, I can give no more. Y/N, at your service. My Lord,” Elrond smiled, patting your hand, the warmth of it surprising. You had heard tales of elves their hearts shriveled in exchange for face’s adorned with youth. One could not be so caring and have a soul so bereft of love.

Moving towards the dining hall, Elrond watched your expression closely. Naught moved on your face except for your gaze. Y/N taking in every subtle nuance of those around you.

You washed your hands with water provided, a manner that held grace and knowledge-many elves using their goblets to disguise glancing your way. There was much to ponder. It was in there nature to know. Yet you were like a fog-filled morning, mysterious but unthreatening. Elves knew the ways of man, didn’t they?

Week’s went by, and still, no solution could be found for your mannerisms or presence.

Elrond appearing in his library, where you sat browsing ancient medicinal and magical plants. Your back to a wall and tucked into a corner so small that an elve would hardly notice. Erestor, the overseer of the library, had tripped over you twice.

In your months at Rivendell, Elrond had attuned to your ability to disappear and reappear in different places.

When the thought had dispersed itself, you appeared at his side.

“Morning, Lord Elrond.” A little of the weariness had drifted from your mind, but the age remained.

One so young should not have to bear, his son’s far freer. Two thousand years of life, even with the hatred of orcs dwelling deep in there hearts. In the absence of such topics, they could live happily.

You seemed ever searching, not lost for you were sure-footed and grounded. Like the earth, freshly tilled but yet unplanted.

“Good morning,Y/N.” sparkle in his eyes at your calm. Many of his brethren had commented on the peace you brought with you. The urge to fight or flee seemed hindered. Many had found themselves speaking freely, often leaving with lighter hearts.

A gift and curse at once. Some of your weariness come to light those moments, for you said little but knew much.

Standing in front of him, he let his arm extend. The crook of his arm becoming as familiar to you as walking the pathways of Imladris. Electing to let your mind and heart wander the hidden valley. Always arriving in a spot of sorrow: a dewy-eyed handmaiden, a frightened animal, or grieving warrior. The pain drew you with items needed. Weeks had slithered on, elves and Dunedain alike had learned to head your requests for they were naught without reason even if your voice could give no reason.

Daughter of Este.


End file.
